


Realspace

by jiokra



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Drama, Gen, X-Wing(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 03:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10428324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiokra/pseuds/jiokra
Summary: Flying clears Poe's mind like nothing else, but the nuances of realspace always find him. Always.





	

BB-8 beeped sporadically as Black One drifted away from Duzoth, a planet discovered to possess artifacts detailing a mythic location of kyber crystals. The mission was their typical flair, easy premise turned pear shaped by virtue of them being themselves, yet it allowed them to break the ice after the excitement of the previous week. They'd only been apart for mere days, yet the days had felt like an eternity, the absence of the other akin to a lost limb, a corner of their hearts carved out and lost in the sea of countless stars, dark matter, galaxies.

Memories attacked Poe, swarming his vision with light splotches. Poe squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head; his vision cleared. Evening out a shaky breath, Poe examined the control panel with a clinical, languid stare, and said, “BB-8, plot a course for D’Qar.”

BB-8 whirled in affirmation of receiving the order, then the cockpit stooped into silence accented by crickets dancing in the engine. Poe glared at the stars, exhaustion rendering him incapable of forcing his face into a complimentary expression.

Poe sniffed, grip loose on the control column, and glanced at the overhead panel. Cabin pressurization was impeccable. Oxygen levels pristine. Anti-ice control a dream. Air conditioning—Poe smirked, the degrees slightly off kilter. Poe fussed with the buttons, deliberating between notching it a degree higher or lower, and settled with a cooler temperature as the ache in his eye sockets indicated sleep deprivation. Anything warmer than cramped joints would lull him to a snoring slumber. A cozy cockpit only exacerbated fatigue and complicated the landing.

Speaking of landing, the Resistance acquired funds to improve the infrastructure of the landing pad. Construction started during the duration of Poe’s mission, a temporary landing pad positioned far from the forests in the interim. Northeastern crosswinds prevented rain from swamping the pad, yet its slight power still impacted aerial friction. He’d need to direct the nose toward the wind, engage engine thrust to form balance with the force drag—

BB-8’s crisp beep cut clear through his thoughts, flight course flashing across the display panel.

Poe straightened in his seat and smiled as his foot shifted on the rudder pedals. “Thanks, buddy.”

He set course, stomach cinching as stars stretched into fine lines.

Approximately ten minutes to D’Qar, his comm crackled to life.

“Black Leader? Black Leader, this is base. Do you read me?”

“Black Leader here. I read you.”

“Commander, there’s been change to your husband’s condition.” _Husband._ A lie and necessary evil for Finn to have one person in the galaxy around to worry and care for him. “Sir, are you there?”

Poe rolled his jaw and glared at the streaking stars. “Yes, sorry. I’m here.”

“Finn Dameron was released from the bacta tank this morning. All vertebrae regenerated and there is limited scarring. We’ll need to perform surgery to repair damage to his liver that the bacta could not reach. He’ll need to undergo anesthesia. We can wait for you to return to base and sign forms, but verbal authorization is permissible.”

Hairs prickled along his scalp, eyesight strained, grip on the center column tightened.

“Sir? Do you authorize it? Otherwise, we can—”

Poe’s stomach leapt. “I authorize. I authorize it.”

“All right, sir. Finn will undergo his surgery soon. He’ll be able to leave medbay later this evening. He’ll be bedridden, however, and need care. If you have any missions in that time, he can stay at medbay.”

“No, ah. That’s fine. My schedule’s clear for the month.”

“Great. We’ll instruct you how to complete the proper care. Finn will sleeping off some painkillers and effects of the sedation for the rest of this evening, so it’s critical you provide the care.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you, sir. Good luck returning to base.”

“Thank you for—for everything.”

“It’s our pleasure, sir. Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

The stars speeding past him felt too constricting. Poe pulled out of hyperspace, hearing only the thudding in his ears and BB-8’s inquisitive whirls prompting for a response to the unscheduled stop. Poe ignored him, focusing intently on the specks of light surrounding him, lightyears separating him from the nearest lifeform aside from BB-8. His mind felt blank and full all at once.

He hadn’t purposefully thought of Finn in days, yet in the morning, drifting forgetfully into the ethers were memories of dreams with hot sand, white armor, himself racing across a tarmac to a familiar face. The mission had been too urgent. A distraction. He hadn’t thought of the ships exploding into shrapnel, the lives lost and scattered over Starkiller.

He closed his eyes, sucking his cheek between his teeth. “BB-8, tell me I’m being dramatic.”

BB-8 trilled familiar beeps.

Poe’s mouth pulled, a sardonic smile. “Thanks, buddy. Can always count on you to set me straight.” 


End file.
